The Proposal
by chocolatejet
Summary: Threatened with deportation, Maleficent Fey, editor-in-chief at Bewitched Books, persuades her assistant to marry her. Based on the 2009 film, 'The Proposal'. Modern AU, Maleval.
1. Chapter One

**THE PROPOSAL**

 _by chocolatejet_

. . . . . . . . . .

Summary: Threatened with deportation, Maleficent Fey, editor-in-chief at Bewitched Books, persuades her assistant to marry her. Based on the 2009 film, 'The Proposal'. Modern AU, Maleval.

Disclaimer: Just borrowing various characters and storylines for my own amusement. No harm meant; no profit made. Uhthankyou.

. . . . . . . . . .

 **Chapter One**

 _ **We're Getting Married**_

. . . . . . . . . .

"Ma, please, tell Gammy I'm sorry, but I can't take the time off work." Diaval sighed and kneaded his forehead against the first pangs of what was bound to be a colossal headache. "The place is a madhouse what with the installation of a new CEO."

"But it's her ninetieth birthday." Even over the phone, Diaval could hear the distress in his mother's voice loud and clear. He swallowed back his guilt with more than a little difficulty.

"Ma, I'm sorry. Really, I am, but-" He hesitated as a pair of perfectly manicured hands appeared on his desk. His gaze travelled upwards along pale arms and a chocolate-brown short-sleeved blouse, until it finally came to rest on the fair face of his boss. Those unusual golden eyes of hers watched him unwaveringly.

"Look, Ma, I have to go. Love you. Bye." Diaval quickly slammed down the receiver, earning himself an arched brow.

"Family troubles?" asked Maleficent Fey.

Diaval shrugged, knowing she wasn't actually interested. "Not troubles, exactly. Um, you needed me for something?"

Maleficent straightened and crossed her arms. "Mr King has requested my presence," she said, sounding far from enthused at the prospect of an audience with Bewitched Books' new CEO. "You know the drill. Come fetch me in ten minutes."

"Will do."

When her sashaying form had left the room Diaval let his head drop to his desk, wondering as his mother's disappointment replayed in his mind whether his life could possibly get any worse.

. . . . . . . . . .

"You wanted to see me?" asked Maleficent without preamble.

Stefan King looked up from the paperwork he'd been poring over. His scowl might have cowed most people, but Maleficent was made of tougher stuff.

"Yes," he said at last. "I've been looking through staff records." Suddenly, Stefan's eyes took on a glint that made Maleficent's own narrow with suspicion.

"And?"

"And it seems," said Stefan as he extracted a sheet of paper from the pile on his desk, "that your visa has been rejected."

For the first time in what seemed an age, Maleficent felt a stab of panic. "I'm sorry, what?"

He continued as though she hadn't spoken. "If you can't sort this out with the Immigration Office, you will be deported."

"Deported?" Maleficent quickly smothered her alarm, levelling Stefan with a cool gaze. "Not too much of an issue these days thanks to video conferencing and-"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," said Stefan, looking anything but sorry as he leaned back in his chair, elbows on its armrests and fingers steepled against his mouth. "But without citizenship, you can no longer be employed by this company."

Before Maleficent could respond, there came a knock at the door. Diaval ducked his head inside.

"Sorry to interrupt, but there's a client on the phone for you, Miss Fey. I told her you were otherwise engaged, but she insisted…" Diaval trailed off as he noticed a startling smile creep across Maleficent's face. She crooked a finger at him. He went to her side after a brief pause, trying not to let his confusion show.

"Mr King. I have a confession to make." That said, Maleficent threaded an arm through Diaval's, patting his bicep with her other hand. "Diaval Blake and I are getting married…"


	2. Chapter Two

. . . . . . . . . .

 **Chapter Two**

 _ **A Weekend Away**_

. . . . . . . . . .

 _It's official_ , thought Diaval while he and Maleficent stood in line at the Immigration Office. _She's lost her bloody mind_ …

"Did you see King's face?" said Maleficent gleefully. "He couldn't have looked more surprised if I'd slapped him across the face with a dead fish."

"I'm glad you find this so amusing." Diaval's headache was escalating. Rubbing his temples, he tried to ignore his boss's look of mock sympathy.

"Poor baby. Not to worry. Once this is settled, we'll have a quickie divorce and you can go on to marry an obliging fifties housewife type who'll have a supper ready for you every evening and bear you plenty of little beasties."

Diaval turned to Maleficent with a groan of pure frustration. "You're not getting this, are you?" He leaned closer towards her and lowered his voice. "We'll be committing fraud. And while I've done many questionable things for you over the years, this is taking it a bit too far."

Maleficent's expression was suddenly all business, and Diaval felt his stomach turn leaden with dread.

"Let me put it to you simply, Diaval. If you don't play along, it will be as if all your hard work thus far never happened. You'll be back to square one – a small-town boy, lost and alone on the big, bad city streets – because do you honestly think King will keep you once I'm gone?"

"Next!"

It wasn't until Maleficent left him standing there, blinking owlishly after her, that Diaval realised they'd reached the front of the queue. A moment later she was gesturing impatiently for him to join her at the counter.

"Come along, _darling_. We don't have all day."

. . . . . . . . . .

Maleficent pressed her lips together to keep from sneering. The office she and Diaval had been shown to was small and cluttered, and smelled like a gym's changing room. What's worse, when she swept a finger over the top of a filing cabinet by the door, it came away dusty.

"Utter pigsty," muttered Maleficent. "Completely unprofessional."

She cast a glance at Diaval who was sitting in one of a pair of plastic chairs situated before a desk. Or what Maleficent assumed was a desk. She couldn't quite tell for all the paperwork and general mess strewn atop it.

Her assistant hadn't spoken since they'd left the waiting area, and sat now with his face in his hands.

"Oh do stop moping, Diaval," said Maleficent reproachfully. "There are far worse things in life than getting married to my wonderful self."

"Actually," said Diaval, voice muffled against his palms, "I have a hammering headache."

Maleficent rolled her eyes, but fished a packet of paracetamol and half-drunk bottle of water from her designer handbag.

"Here." She nudged him with the bottle. He took the proffered painkillers and water with a quiet word of thanks, and it was as Maleficent hovered over him suspiciously like a mother hen that the office door opened.

"A'ight," said the newcomer - a short, fat man with close-cropped hair and a coarse, uncultured accent that placed him as a native of the roughest part of the city. "Name's Barnaby Small. And you must be-" He held a stapled-together sheaf of papers to his face. "Diaval and Maleficent. Sit down." The latter he directed sternly at Maleficent. Deeming it unwise to refuse, she perched herself on the edge of the second chair that looked about as grubby as everything else in the room.

"So. You're applying for a fiancé visa," said Barnaby once he'd sat behind his desk. He looked between them with narrowed eyes. "Now listen up, and listen good. If I find out you're doing this to keep her in the country-" Diaval found himself on the receiving end of an accusing finger-point. "You'll face a fine and a prison sentence, and _you_ -" The finger was redirected at Maleficent. "Will be shipped off home to," a glance at the papers, "The Moors faster than you can say 'citizenship fraud'. Understand?"

"Of course," said Maleficent smoothly. "But it's nothing like that. You see, Diaval and I were two people who were never meant to fall in love... but did." She grasped Diaval's hand for effect. It trembled and perspired in her grip. "All those late nights at the office and weekend book fairs..."

"Spare me," said Barnaby with a dismissive hand gesture. "Now this is what's going to happen. I will interview the both of you separately. Your answers _better_ match up. Next I'll interview your families-"

"Ah..." Maleficent dropped Diaval's hand in order to raise her own like a prim schoolgirl. "Sorry to interrupt, but my parents are dead, and I have no siblings."

Barnaby sighed. "Naturally," he said, jotting down some notes. "And what about you Mr Blake?"

"Oh, uh, my parents are very much alive. And I have two sisters. But, um, they don't know... yet."

Barnaby looked up, eyebrows shooting heavenwards. "They don't know you're engaged?"

"We were going to break the news this weekend," inserted Maleficent. "At Diaval's grandmother's ninetieth birthday celebration. Isn't that right, _dear_?"

Said 'dear' gawped at her for a moment before his face settled into an expressionless mask. "Yes. That... that's right."

"Hmm." Barnaby abruptly stood and reached for a post-it note. "I'll be seeing you both Monday afternoon for that interview," he said, scribbling down the date and time. He passed the yellow square of paper to Maleficent with a rather sinister smile. "Enjoy your weekend away."


	3. Chapter Three

. . . . . . . . . .

 **Chapter Three**

 _ **The Blake Women**_

. . . . . . . . . .

"I had no idea you were such a poor flyer."

"I'm not," said Diaval shortly.

Maleficent let out a disbelieving huff, gaze darting pointedly to his white-knuckled hand on the armrest between them. "Really?"

"If you must know, it's more the thought of my impending prison sentence that's bringing me out in a cold sweat."

Maleficent spared him a long-suffering look. "And I've _told you_ , no-one will find out. Speaking of, did you research the interview questions like I asked?"

Sighing, Diaval retrieved a manilla folder from his laptop bag and handed it to her. Inside was a long list of the 'Mr & Mrs'-type questions Barnaby would doubtless ask, which Diaval had copied and pasted from various relevant websites between panic attacks and booking his and Maleficent's plane tickets to The Eire.

As he watched her read and make the occasional snide remark, Diaval found he couldn't keep a lid on his own questions any longer.

"How did you know about Gammy's ninetieth?"

"It's marked out on your desktop calendar," said Maleficent without looking up from the papers. "In red marker. And all caps."

"And you thought this would be a good idea, why?"

She finally met his gaze, golden eyes sparkling shrewdly. "Because, darling, if we can fool your family, then we can fool anyone." She shrugged. "Think of it as a preliminary."

"This is my _family_ we're talking about," said Diaval, not quite able to keep the tremor of distress from his voice. "Deceiving them like this..."

"It won't do them any harm," said Maleficent casually. "Besides, it would be a much nastier shock to them if you lost your job, wouldn't it?"

 _To everyone but my father_ , thought Diaval bitterly. Outwardly, he said, "I will go through with this on one condition."

Maleficent had already gone back to perusing the papers, clearly bored with their conversation. "And what's that?"

"You will promote me to editor."

She whipped her head up, wide-eyed with alarm. "What?"

"You will make me editor," said Diaval again, calmly. "And not a year from now. As soon as we get back from The Eire. You will announce it and make it so. Otherwise, no deal."

Maleficent pursed her lips, watching him for a long moment through narrowed eyes.

"Alright," she said at last, extending her hand. "Deal."

Diaval took the proffered appendage, her skin warm and soft against his own, and felt a faint sense of relief. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all _..._

.

.

.

"This is it?" Maleficent looked about incredulously, taking in the ramshackle town where she and Diaval had been deposited by the crowded bus from the airport.

"Not quite." Diaval gestured with a nod which Maleficent followed. Parked across the street was a shiny black jeep, from which tumbled a trio of women, all smiling and waving. They ranged in age. The oldest - small and white-haired - was obviously Diaval's grandmother. Identifying the other two was a bit trickier until they'd crossed the road to join them, at which point Maleficent could see that one raven-haired beauty was significantly older than the other. Diaval's mother, and one of his sisters.

"My sweet boy!" The mother was the first to step forward, enveloping Diaval in a big, warm hug. Drawing back, she held his face in her hands. "It's been too long."

"I know, Ma," said Diaval regretfully. "I'm sorry."

"And you must be Maleficent," she said, turning towards the woman in question. Her smile was warm and infectious. "Diaval's told us so much about you."

"Not all good," said Gammy in her broad Eire-ish accent. From her spot latched onto her grandson's midsection, she watched Maleficent with a sceptical look as if she couldn't fathom what Diaval saw in her.

"She's joking," said Diaval's mother quickly. "I'm Roisin, by the way."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, finally."

When Roisin made as though to embrace her, Maleficent panicked. She stuck her hand out into the small space that separated them and Diaval's mother, to her credit, took it into her own with only the barest hint of surprise.

"As you've probably already guessed, this is Gammy," introduced Roisin. "Also known as Moira."

The older woman had since relinquished Diaval to his sister's attentions and stepped forward, gaze sweeping over Maleficent from head to toe. "You're not Diaval's usual type."

"Oh?" said Maleficent before Roisin could dole a chastisement. "And does he bring many women home to meet the family?"

Gammy opened her wizened mouth to reply, but Roisin intervened.

"Not at all. And none in the last few years."

Maleficent noted a flicker of sadness cross the older woman's face. If she'd blinked, she might have missed it.

"Oh, and this is my younger daughter," said Roisin as Diaval and his sister joined them, the former's arm draped over the latter's shoulders. "Siobhan. And now that the introductions are done, shall we go? It looks like rain..."

The sunshine and blue skies that had greeted Maleficent and Diaval on their arrival had almost completely vanished. Clouds raced each other overhead, darker ones heading towards them from the West.

"Good idea," said Diaval. "Come help me with the luggage, _sweetheart_."

Maleficent arched her brows, but complied. Their suitcases were standing beside a park bench in the square. As Maleficent went to retrieve her own, Diaval gently took her arm.

"Thank you."

Maleficent shot him a quizzical look. "What for?"

"For playing nice. I know Gammy can be a bit..." He shrugged helplessly. "Just try to keep it up, yeah?"

"I sweet-talk writers for a living," said Maleficent, deadpan. "I'm sure I'll manage."

What he was unaware of was the growing sense of guilt Maleficent had felt as she'd spoken with his kind, affectionate mother. An emotion Maleficent could ill afford, and promptly swept back into the dark recesses of her mind...


End file.
